The holidays and my new promotion are keeping me busy.
I hope to have some new stuff for you all soon!
In the mean time, remember this one?
The Nick Of Time (and other abrasions)
Blood And Tinsel
by
Al Bruno III
100
"Howdy"
"Salutations."
"Sorry I'm late."
"It wasn't unexpected. Shall we initiate our offensive? The malefactors have already appeared on the scene."
"What?"
"Our targets are in the shopping enclosure."
"Again, what?"
"The shopping enclosure."
"The mall?"
"Yes."
"Ok. USA. Mall. Teamed up with a stiff board to kill crazy bastards. Got it."
"Marvelous. Now, can we begin?"
"Sure. Just one thing."
"What?"
"What was your name again?"
99
The mall restroom reeked of strawberry-scented air freshener; unseen speakers droned out a never-ending cycle of lethargic, sugar-coated Christmas Carols. A lone figure stood before one of the sinks, critiquing his reflection. The face that stared back at him was sweaty and pinched, wearing a pair of thick-lensed, wide-rimmed glasses. He ran his hands through the thinning remains of his hair and tried to recapture some trace of the confidence he had felt ten days ago when Bodge Loyar had called upon him to perform this mission of vengeance. Scorby remembered thinking The Bloodless Whisperer and his followers will pay dearly for their crimes.
Now he had to wonder, and wondering made panic blossom in Scorby's throat and do a long, cold slide down to his belly. It was too late to back out now, he knew that. It had been too late years ago, but what wouldn't he do for just one more week to sacrifice and make ready? His adversary was as old as he was deadly - what did he have to compare? Was his faith in the Harlequin in the Ice enough?
In the end his faith was all he had.
Twisting the faucet to life he splashed icy water on his face and neck. Slowly the fear subsided. "Stay calm." he murmured, "Stay calm."
It was almost time to begin, he had one last preparation to make. There was a plastic sandwich bag in his coat pocket. He reached for it, feeling its contents shift and twist. The bag was full of bloated worms, well over a dozen of them. Scorby took them into the restroom stall and reverently swallowed mouthful after squirming mouthful.
98
"We have arrived."
"Very nice. Didn't even break a sweat during casting."
"There is no alternative for being erudite. Mind your step."
"Thanks, never thought I'd be futzing around in a construction site again. It’s like the night I lost my virginity all over again. So who did you piss off to get sent here?"
"No one. It was the highest privilege to be chosen."
"Oh boy. You don't get it do you?"
"Get what?"
"We pissed off one of the Preceptors or a Dean and now they want us dead- or at least severely mangled. This was the easiest way to do it"
"Such paranoia! The Dark Gods are a real threat, not some blunt-edged assassin's tool."
"Oh please. The Dark Gods haven't been a serious threat since nineteen thirty-seven. Believe me, I know."
"And how would you be a party to such detailed information?"
"My Ma used to worship them."
97
Shoppers filed through the mall, coursing in and out of the stores, up and down on the escalators. The sound of conversations, laughter and arguments all coalesced together to form a soft, shifting wall of sound. On the second floor of the mall the crowd was thinner, thanks in part to the renovations that had blocked off many of the storefronts. Here the weary customer could take a moment to relax in the relative calm of the food court.
Herb Cordel strode through the maze of tables and benches, his eyes alert, his white hair slicked back. His uniform was spotless and neatly ironed, his walkie-talkie dangled from its holster. His gaze shifted this way and that, ever vigilant.
A splash and the sound of jeering laughter echoed dimly in his bad ear. Turning on his heel, he saw a gang of teen-agers pouring soda over the railing onto the unwary patrons below.
Unholstering his walkie-talkie, the chief of mall security called for back up and moved in.
96
Alien thoughts swimming through his mind, Scorby moved cautiously out of the access hallway and merged with the crowds. He tried to blend in, but he felt incredibly conspicuous. Slowing his pace he scanned the sea of slack-jawed faces for his enemy, but the senile old fop was nowhere in sight.
The sheep brushed against him on either side, their proximity making his bile rise. He wondered idly if any of them understood how empty and futile their little dreams were.
It didn't matter because tonight they would learn; tonight they would sample the glory of Bodge Loyar's wisdom.
95
"Enough bantering. Let us enter the fray."
"Woah. Woah. Woah. Wait a minute there my friend."
"Is there a problem?"
"Look, just hear me out on this. These guys are pretty hardcore right?"
"They are formidable opponents."
"And they're here to have this weird-ass sissyboy slap fight right?"
"Is there a point to all this dithering?"
"Let them fight for a while and soften each other up."
"What kind of Mystagogue are you? Such a clash would cause horrific casualties."
"Just plain folks. The casualties would all be just plain folks. Don't you get it? They're just pawns on the chessboard, we're the rooks and the bishops."
"This is without question the most reprehensible thing I have ever heard."
"Reprehensible or not-"
"What- What's happening?"
"Oh sweet Monkey King!"
"What? What?"
"Don't you see? The Dark Gods- they're cutting us off!"
"Impossible!"
"No. Not just us. The whole damn mall!"
94
Half the bottom level of the mall was overrun with seasonal decorations- fake snow, mannequins dressed as elves and plastic reindeer. The centerpiece of the display was a twenty-foot tall fiberglass Christmas tree that was at least ten years past its prime. The man called Charnel Bloom scowled at it for a moment; at the harried looking Santa and his disinterested helpers, at the children, some rude, others caterwauling. So much noise, it raped the silence from the universe. It was bad enough that minions of Bodge Loyar had desecrated the temple of Anzon the bloodless whisperer. It was bad enough they had stolen the precious Splinter from its velvet lined cage of bones. It was bad enough that the little shit Scorby had evaded his every trap, his every attack with surprising ease, always staying one step ahead...
But now, to lead the chase here?
Death is too good for the son of a bitch. Charnel Bloom thought, his too-white teeth grinding.
93
These boys had been in Herb's office before.
Many times before.
Pouring drinks on holiday shoppers was the least of their transgressions. Even now, in the office of mall security, with a police car or their parents just a phone call away, they were snickering and ginning.
"You boys," Herb hitched his belt as he paced before them, "are starting to piss me off."
He had hoped that his uncharacteristic use of profanity would cow them, but all it did was raise their giggling to a fever pitch, "What if that had been your mother walking down there?"
The ringleader of the trio mumbled something.
"What was that?" Herb rounded on him.
"I said she would have been worth double points."
The other two shook with laughter.
"Shut up!" the headache he had felt building all evening, chose that moment to burst to life, the pain nearly knocked him off his feet. Leaning on his desk he shook a finger at the two younger boys, "You both got one strike against you."
Turning his attention back to the ringleader he snarled, "And you- you got two strikes against you!"
One of the two younger boys stood and burst into song, "And it's one! Two! Three strikes you're out! At the old! Ball! Game!"
Now the three of them were in hysterics, the ringleader was rolling around on the floor like an overturned bug. Herb kept a revolver locked in a strongbox in his bottom desk drawer; he was sorely tempted to get it now.
The door to the mall security office crashed open and Mary-Jean, one of the two other security guards on duty tonight, stormed inside, dragging a guilty-looking man in a frock coat behind her. Herb jumped, "The Hell-"
"They caught him hiding in one of the changing ladies changing rooms at Sears." Mary-Jean shoved the man into the chair. She was just under six feet tall and obese to the point of androgyny, "I guess we all know who didn't get a girlfriend for Christmas."
92
Ten minutes of searching the sea of faces and still nothing. Another wave of panic washed over Scorby as he navigated the display of antique cars that crowded the other half of the mall.
It wasn't like Charnel Bloom to lie low; the old man always met his enemies with speed and brutality. No thought or planning ever went into his attacks.
Crouching down beside a '39 Ford, Scorby wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. It was just his luck that the old man had finally read a book on tactics.
91
"Impossible!"
"I can't see out. I can't get out. I can't even call for help. can you? If you can I will be really impressed."
"No. No I cannot."
"Shit! I knew we were getting hosed!"
"The Greater Eastern Council of Mystagogues does not 'hose' its own members!"
"Oh please. That warm tingling sensation you're feeling isn't love, it means you're being pissed on."
"Enough of this nonsense Jack Diamond!"
90
The sign on the plaster partition wall proclaimed in cheery letters "PARDON OUR DUST! WE'RE REMODELLING TO SERVE YOU BETTER!" and then went on in much smaller print to describe the planned new stores and multiplex cinema.
Nicole Miller stared blankly at the fading letters as she sucked down the last draughts from a chocolate milkshake. She had dark hair and a mouth that seemed to be frozen in a perpetual frown. Three hours, she'd been here for three hours already and, aside from the ice cream, she'd bought nothing. She didn't want to be here, but she sure as Hell didn't want to go back to that lifeless apartment.
With a sigh of resignation she stood and pulled her long, red coat in around herself more tightly and adjusted her scarf. A bar. That was the answer, she'd go to a bar and drink herself numb. Trudging towards the exit, Nicole had to choke down the urge to rip down the endless mosaic of plastic holly and tinsel.
89
Scorby squealed a little when he spied the back of Charnel Bloom's head receding through the throng of sheep. There was no mistaking that garish beret, the ratty old knapsack or, most of all, the elaborately carved bone flute sticking out of it.
For a dreadful moment Scorby became sure that the old man was going to turn and attack. But he just kept right on walking, his arrogant gait carrying him past the record store and on towards Sears.
Knowing that this was his moment to strike, Scorby set off in cautious pursuit.
88
"This is all just a big misunderstanding…" the pervert stammered and blushed as he emptied his pockets out onto Herb's desk. Mary-Jean stood next to him, poised like an attack dog.
A roll of duct tape, half a movie ticket, a book of matches, a vial with a wax stopper, scraps of paper, a necklace made from paper clips, a thick sliver of scarlet crystal, a gold pen and a tarot card clattered onto Herb's desk. He'd sent the three hooligans off with a warning; there was nothing more he could do really. Neither the police nor their parents would lift a finger to punish them. He had the goddamn Dr. Spock to thank for that.
Besides, the little bastards had given him a headache. If the preliminary pangs were anything to go by, this would be a migraine of epic proportions. At least he had this little weirdo to take it all out on. Lurking in a ladies changing room was grounds for a call to the police. Leaning back in his seat, Herb looked him over. The pervert was short- 4'11'' at best, with frizzy black hair, his cheerless brown eyes were concealed behind a pair of granny glasses. His jeans and T-shirt were grimy and spattered. He looked to Herb like a transient, a damn hippie, or both.
"Where's your ID?" Mary-Jean asked as she patted him down.
"ID? Well, I don't have any but, er, you can call me Zachary."
Herb started to write, "Zachary what?"
"Benjamin Zachary." he smiled uncertainly.
"He's clean." Mary-Jean said.
"What year is this? I can never remember."
"Shut up!"
Herb found his attention drawn to the scarlet crystal. It was almost a foot long, rounded on one end, narrowing to a point on the other. It was smooth and perfect save for a single flaw buried deep in the crystal's heart, a bubble of discoloration. Strange images slithered across the surface of the scarlet crystal as Herb turned it over in his hands; they filled his mind with unpleasant memories and lost opportunities. With a shudder he dropped it to the desk and swept it and the rest of their prisoner's miniature junk shop into the bottom desk drawer, then he locked it. "It's 1975 and I wouldn't make jokes if I was you young man. You're in big trouble."
"We're all in big trouble." The man leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers, "If we don't drop this nonsense and act quickly everyone in this building is going to die."
87
After following his quarry for almost a full minute without discovery Scorby decided that it was time to act. He stopped and stood in place, the sheep seething around him. Eventually one of them made eye contact and Scorby whispered an invocation.
The woman stiffened as her free will shut down. She turned, shouldering her way through the holiday shoppers to advance on Charnel Bloom.
86
"We need to strike and we need to strike now."
"No fucking way. We're trapped. We need to be smart about this."
"Smart? Or craven?"
"Even if we take these guys out that doesn't solve our problem of how to get out of here. What if they are the only ones that can undo the invocation? Shit! We don't even know where we are!"
"Doubtless our fellow Mystagogues are hard at work devising a way to liberate us."
"Don't fool yourself. We're on our own Wu-Han."
85
Willie Tatallia stared in confusion at the series of eight glass doors that made up the mall's main exit. He shook them again, more firmly this time, but they still refused to budge. On either side of him, at other doors, patrons were trying to leave.
All the doors were jammed shut. Shoppers and weary staff alike were making demands-
"-unlock the damn doors- "
"I'm late enough as it is-"
"-jokes over buddy-"
"What the Hell is going on here?"
Problem was that Willie had tried to unlock the doors, several times in fact. The keys had slipped into place, the lock had moved easily but nothing had happened. It was like they'd been welded shut. The crowd surrounding him was growing in size and unease. He directed them to the other exits and returned to staring at the doors, his lanky frame hunched in concentration. It was at moments like this that he wished there really were things like Tricorders and Phasers. That way, he could scan the doors like Spock and come up with both an explanation and a solution for the problem at hand. Of course, if he was Kirk he would just blast the doors into their component atoms.
And that would be far out.
Unfortunately this wasn't Starfleet and he wasn't Kirk. He was a simple mall security guard, a goddamn Red Shirt if every there was one. It just went to show what three years of college couldn't do for you.
He decided to take a look at the other doors. What if they were all jammed? What if everyone was trapped in here? He felt the first stirrings of something that didn't happen in Star Trek. Something called panic.
84
Shoving on a door that refused to budge left her with a wrist that felt halfway towards being sprained. Shaking it Nicole cursed with anger and frustration. It was shaping up to be another banner holiday season for the Miller's only daughter. A crowd was forming around her, people pushed at unyielding doors with helpless befuddlement. Curses, questions and the sound of metal and glass being shaken filled her ears.
Turning away from the scene, Nicole headed for the Burger King. She could use the exit there.
83
Closer, closer, closer still.
Dabbing the sweat from his forehead with the back of his shirtsleeve, Scorby trailed the woman stalking Charnel Bloom. Was it really going to be this simple?
A tide of panic was working its way though the sheep. They were beginning to realize that they were trapped. Scorby concentrated on his adversary, seeing him through the woman's vision; the lop-sided beret, the long gray hair, the khaki knapsack and, of course, the engraved bone flute protruding from it.
This is almost too easy! Scorby thought as he counted the steps to victory.
One…
Two…
Three…
Four…
Five…
The woman's arm flickered out at the nudging of Scorby's mind, her thin fingers snatching the flute.
Charnel Bloom turned a moment too late, his eyes widening at the loss of his precious instrument.
82
"What are you, some kind of a nutcase?" Mary-Jean loomed over their prisoner, her fist inches from his face.
"No." when their prisoner spoke it was with a kind of resignation, "I am not. I am trying to save lives."
With a well-practiced glare Herb told Mary-Jean to back off. Christ! The woman was a lawsuit waiting to happen. "Look, we'd like to believe you, but let's be serious for a second here. You were found loitering in a ladies changing room, with no ID and no money and now we're supposed to believe you when you tell us that we're all going to die?"
"I'm telling the truth."
Mary-Jean sneered, "Bullshit."
Leaning back in his chair, Herb tried to sound reasonable, "What are you telling me? That you're some kind of a G-man?"
"That's it!" he snapped his fingers and leapt to his feet only to be shoved back down by Mary-Jean. "Herb, I want you to call the FBI and tell them you have Special Agent August Zabladowski in custody."
"I thought you said your name was Benjamin Zachary." Mary-Jean said.
"Yes. I did."
This was growing more preposterous by the second, if it weren't so tragic Herb would have burst out laughing. "You're an FBI agent now?"
"Actually I'm something of a consultant." 'Benjamin Zachary' shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with their scrutiny. It was almost as though he didn't expect to be believed.
"Do you know the penalty for impersonating a government agent?"
"Do you?"
Herb shrugged, "It's more than peeping, I'll tell you that."
"Look, if you're going to have me arrested then have me arrested! Just do something before it's too late."
Shaking his head, the old security guard decided to let the police handle 'Special Agent August Zabladowski'. Let them try and figure out who he was and what rubber room he belonged in.
Mary-Jean laughed as her supervisor picked up the receiver, "End of the road secret agent man."
After a few aborted attempts Herb set the receiver back down in it's cradle, "Snowstorm must have taken out the phone lines."
"Too late." the weirdo buried his face in his hands, "I'm still too late."
"Cut the freakin' dramatics!" Mary-Jean snapped.
The security guards' walkie-talkies hissed and crackled to life. Benjamin Zachary/August Zabladowski/Whoever He Was ran his fingers through his hair, "That will be Mr. Tatallia calling in to tell you that every door, even the loading dock ones are jammed shut."
"Shut up!"
"Guys this is Willie." the pounding in Herb's skull deepened as he raised the walkie-talkie. The kid sounded rattled, "All the doors- even the loading dock ones, they're stuck. They won't open."
They both stared at their prisoner in bewilderment "Are you serious?"
"Yes."
"Every door?"
"The stairwells are open, and the inner doors are all cool but the ones that go out to the parking lot are stuck."
This extra dollop of stress wasn't helping Herb's headache any, he leaned on his desk, trying to think. "Okay... okay..."
"Herb... Mr. Cordel." The prisoner stood, his eyes were bright and expectant, "We need to act quickly and we need to act decisively if any of us are to survive this. There's still a chance to minimize the damage."
"Thanks." Herb slipped the handcuffs from his belt, taking this as her cue Mary-Jean shoved the ersatz secret agent back down. With practiced ease he cuffed the man's wrist and then attached the other end of the handcuffs to the radiator, "But no thanks. For all we know this is your doing, I think you should wait here until we find out for sure."
"No. Don't do this! I can get it right! I can save lives."
"Shut! Up!" Mary-Jean slapped the prisoner hard.
"Mary!" the echoing crack seemed to linger in the air, Herb winced thinking to himself that Mary-Jean Kachanski was one woman he did not want to meet alone in a dark alley. But he had to admit it had shut the loon up. He was just sitting there, glaring sullenly. "You're gonna be the one spending the night in jail if you don't watch it."
"It's cause of this asswipe that I'm gonna miss The Rockford Files."
Herb rolled his eyes, she was worse than Willie with his Star Track show. "Okay here's the drill, I want you to help Willie find a working phone or see if you can use one of the C.B radios they got over at the Radio Shack. Call the police and call a locksmith. I'm gonna see these jammed doors for myself."
They left the office, their prisoner stared after them, blood drooling from the cut on his lip. "Bless my buttons." he whispered.
81
There was the tiniest shock when the woman slapped the flute into Scorby's hand. The young magus permitted himself one small indulgence, he raised the length of carved bone and gave his adversary the smarmiest smile he could muster.
To Scorby's surprise and near-disappointment, the mighty Charnel Bloom turned and fled.
There was a crash as the woman, freed suddenly from Scorby's power, collapsed into a quivering heap.
80
"Well, by the look of things it shouldn't take the short one too long to kill the tall one."
"One can hope. I still cannot believe that I resolved to follow your strategy."
"Hey, who is ever gonna know?"
"Assuming we survive this I still have to wonder how we are going to escape this imbroglio."
"Don't worry, the Monkey King will provide."
"You worship the Monkey King?"
"He's my personal savoir."
"I am employing advice given to me by a man that venerates a monkey."
"Not just any monkey..."
79
It was quite a task to force one's way through the mass of shoppers surrounding the door that had gathered before the main entrance. On the outer fringes of the crowd the conversation was still speculative and light-hearted. People sat with their backs to the wall, with their children and purchases clustered around them. They noticed Herb's uniform but only eyed his passing. Deeper within the throng the air was cloying and tempers were short. Hands pulled on Herb, shrill voices made demands.
He waved them off as best he could and pressed on, intent on seeing these mysteriously 'jammed' doors for himself.
Every few minutes his walkie-talkie would spit static and either Mary-Jean or Willie would report in with another useless phone or door. What was going on here? This had gone beyond mere pranksterism, it was sabotage! Or, more chillingly, perhaps it was something criminal. What if the Special Agent Pervert had been right? What if there were terrorists right here in the mall. In his mall? And of course this was the day of all days that his head would choose to birth the meanest of all the migraines it had ever unleashed on him. It felt like his skull was being crushed between hot boulders, their pressure slowly grinding his sanity away.
By the time he reached the doors he was drenched with sweat, he felt like he might throw up. Hell, he might feel better if he did throw up! It would certainly help to clear the area. Taking hold of the doors he gave them a solid tug.
Nothing.
"Sir?" one of the shoppers spoke up, "The door says push."
The black lettering on the glass mocked Herb; he rolled his eyes and gave the door a solid shove. Still nothing. The feel of dozens of eyes pressing watching him, made him nervous, he wanted to turn and order them to clear off, but that would just make things worse. People these days barely respected a policeman's uniform much less mall security. His knees popped as he lowered himself to a crouch so he could examine the keyholes and locks.
There were no signs of tampering but if it was vandalism, they probably would have done their mischief from the other side of the door so they could make their getaway. But how could anyone jam the almost sixty doors that led to the outside world in so brief a time?
"Well, by the look of things it shouldn't take the short one too long to kill the tall one."
Herb turned to confront the moron yelling in his ear, but all he saw was row after row of intense silent faces. "Great." He mumbled to himself, "Now I'm hearin' things."
The throbbing in his head was reaching a fever pitch, he wondered moodily if this meant there was another trip to the VA Hospital looming in his future. He pulled the key ring from his belt and felt through the keys with sweat-slicked fingers. It slipped in and twisted easily, but the door stayed jammed. "Why me. Why does this shit always happen to me?" Herb whispered as he leaned his aching head against the cool metal of the door.
78
Shaking his head Willie Tatallia strode out of the Noah's Ark pet store. Damn! No working phone here either, just more weirdness. Every cat in the damn place was gone- vanished without a trace. He'd checked every store on the first level and not a single phone was in working order; Mary-Jean was apparently having similar luck upstairs. Scratching his head he decided to head back to the office and wait for Herb. What else could they do? This whole mess was a lot like that episode of Star Trek where that weird energy alien had trapped the crew and a bunch of Klingons on the Enterprise and forced them to fight with swords.
The thought made Willie pause in mid-step. Jesus, he hoped it wouldn't be like that. He couldn't swordfight to save his life! Turning back to the crowds milling around the doors he comforted himself with the realization that most of these folks probably couldn't swordfight either.
As he watched, a pair of shoppers hoisted a bench and began to charge towards the doors. Willie ran at them, his voice filling the air with orders to cease and desist, his mind filling up with visions of broken glass and torn skin.
77
Nicole slumped onto a bench, her shoulders heavy. After trying more doors than she cared to remember, she was now convinced that she was going to die trapped in a shopping mall listening to the disco Muzak version of 'Frosty the Snowman',
Of course, if she did get out here what would she do? Go back to her empty, undecorated apartment? Get drunk? Drive to the intersection of Shaker Road and Hickory Drive and weep?
Thoughts of that hated patch of road brought the memory back full force; her driving as she argued with Mark that yes, they had to go to her mother's house for Christmas dinner regardless of how bad the weather was. Then the whisper of tires skimming fast over snow and ice, the sickening sensation of the road turning when they could not. Everything shifted into slow motion with the almost too quiet thud of the snowtireless Dodge Dart slamming into the telephone pole. The dry cracking sound to her right that she would only later realize was the sound of a piece of the door tearing itself loose and stabbing Mark in the chest.
Shuddering as she returned to the present, Nicole looked up to see passersby eyeing her oddly. Her vision blurred and cleared and blurred again. Tentatively she reached up to stroke her face, her fingertips came back wet with tears.
76
A fresh invocation spilled off Scorby's lips as he pursued his adversary into SEARS. A clerk's face went blank and he dove over the necktie counter, but Charnel Bloom feinted nimbly to the right leaving the clerk to collide with a four-foot tall ceramic elf, which fell and shattered noisily. For a weak-kneed old fool the bastard could sure run.
A herd of sheep, clerks and cashiers by the look of them, looked up from trying to open one of the exits with a crowbar to watch the elf's head roll down the aisle. Scorby continued the chase, shoving customers and staff aside only to be intercepted by a heavyset man in a dark suit. "What's the hurry buddy?" the man's jowls were flush with anger, his gold name badge read Store Manager.
So intent was Scorby upon his quarry that he nearly wrenched his arm from the socket before he realized that one of the sheep was actually touching him! There was no time to waste; Scorby spat out a particularly brutal invocation. The store manager didn't even have time to scream. He simply collapsed, his face making a resounding smack as it hit the floor.
Bolting past menswear, Scorby rounded the corner to find himself in the hardware department. His head swam with felt fatigue and nausea. That invocation had cost him; he needed to conserve his energy. Either that or he needed to down the last of his worms.
To his right a child carefully rearranged the socket wrenches on the low shelf before him, while further away his parents dickered with a salesman over shades of paint.
His pace slowed to a walk, a single "No" escaping from his lips.
There was no sign of Charnel Bloom anywhere.
75
The crowd cleared behind Mary-Jean as she backed up. The expression on her face resembling nothing so more than an enraged animal. With a curse she kicked at the glass door with all her might for a second time, and just like before she was rewarded with a bone jarring impact that accomplished nothing. The door didn't crack or break, the frame didn't even jiggle.
She ran her hands over the smooth surface of the glass, the painted letters rasping slightly beneath her fingertips. "What the fuck?" she murmured to herself, "What the fuck?"
Every frigging door she'd tried was stuck fast. It was starting to piss her off; and the good Lord hadn't gifted Mary-Jean Kachanski with very much patience to begin with.
"Lady-" an annoyed masculine voice piped up behind her, "is there anybody working here who knows how to open a simple door?"
The crowd of shoppers loosed a collective gasp as Mary-Jean rounded on the man, "You wanna fuckin' try it?"
A roar from Mary-Jean was usually enough to deter anybody but it only served to agitate the man further, "I don't approve of your language! Believe me, your supervisor's going to hear about this!"
That was it. Mary-Jean dove into the crowd, her fists flying. This was the point of no return, she knew she was as good as fired. But so what? She'd never wanted this stupid job. She hated the hours, she hated the mall, she hated the cheap, uncomfortable pseudo-cop uniform she had to wear, and most of all she hated having to deal with people forty hours a week, with their irritating questions and stupid problems.
One of her fists connected with a jaw, it wasn't the asshole she was aiming for but fuck it, he shouldn't have been there. It never failed. No matter where or who she worked for, it was always the same; one day her temper would get the better of her and before she knew it there was somebody scrabbling on the floor for lost teeth.
The smart mouth wasn't being so smartmouthed now. He was caterwauling about police and lawsuits, all the while trying to fend her off by swinging his shopping bags before him. Mary-Jean swatted them away, tearing the thick paper and sending his gaily-wrapped packages crashing to the floor. Mary-Jean landed a punch to his soft gut, he gasped audibly and looked up at her, tears welling up in his eyes. With a smile and a snort of laughter Mary-Jean said, "Tell this to my supervisor." Then she drew back her fist and expertly broke his nose.
74
Scorby spun in place, looking everywhere including the ceiling for his adversary; Charnel Bloom couldn't have just disappeared - could he? No it wasn't possible, the old man had to be nearby. Scorby was certain of this; he might be cowering behind one of the shelves or hiding in one of the areas marked EMPLOYEES ONLY but he was here.
There was a crash and a clatter, Scorby spun on his heel to find the little boy standing before a scattered pile of socket wrenches. There was a guilty frown tugging at the corners of his mouth; "Uh-oh." He said.
Examining the elaborately carved flute in his hand, Scorby reminded himself that the old man was helpless now. Unless of course...
Before the thought could be completed, ghostly piping filled the air; Scorby turned to see a trio of pale-furred shapes scamper down the nearby wall of the hardware department. They moved quickly and quietly, their pink eyes scanning the crowd of shoppers. Three more joined the first three, skittering out of thin air into view. Only the child had seen them and he was squealing for his parents.
Unless of course, Scorby realized as the bone flute slipped from his grasp, that bastard Charnel Bloom happens to have a spare.
The white monkeys flashed their yellowed teeth and leapt to attack. Scorby acted instinctively, knocking the surprised body down in his path as he ran.
The child had time for a final surprised cry before the monkeys were on him
Scorby kept running, the music from Charnel Bloom's flute filling the air.
73
"I think I am going to be ill."
"Now that's hardcore."
"We are doomed. Utterly utterly doomed.."
"No. No we aren't we just need to stick with the plan."
"Doomed..."
"Shit, if we play our cards right we'll be legends."
72
It felt like the radiator was roasting him alive. Benjamin Zachary shifted his chair as far as the handcuff chain would allow, but it wasn't much. If only they hadn't made him empty his pockets- it was relatively easy to pick a lock like this with a paper clip. Unfortunately his paper clips were out of reach, along with his matches, his pen, the poems he'd been working on, the roll of duct tape he'd been saving, the tarot card, the vial of medicinal powder, and of course the sliver of red crystal- the Splinter. Things were falling apart in record time. The sheer weight of what was going to happen here tonight overwhelmed him. Had he done the right thing by trying to confide in the older security guard?
Was it a mistake to have tried to warn him? Perhaps he should have simply concentrated on his main goal.
That was the problem with avoiding the mistakes of the past, it left you wide open to make fresh new ones.
Benjamin tugged again at the handcuffs. What was it about him that made people distrust him so easily? Was he trying too hard? Was he not trying hard enough? Or was this all just a load of bullshit and he was really nothing more than a madman with a vivid imagination?
That thought brought a smile to his lips.
He glanced around the security office, searching for a new means of escape.
It was blue-gray, hot and cramped. An old wooden desk and a peeling leather office chair occupied one side of the room, a shelf near the desk held the controls for the MUZAK and the PA system; the other side of the room held a pair of filing cabinets and a set of four mismatched chairs. He was sure that of the four, he was confined to the least comfortable one.
There was no immediate means of escape: so there was nothing he could do but wait.
If memory served him right William Tatallia would be coming by soon with Herb draped across his shoulders. There was a chance that he might be able to reason with him, and there was an even bigger chance that he might be able to befriend him.
71
The doors wouldn't unlock and they wouldn't break. It was almost as though some jolly prankster had replaced them with solid walls. None of this was possible but explanations no longer mattered to Herb; all he wanted to do was find a solution. This being Christmas, tempers were already running hot between shoppers and employees, how well were they going to take being trapped here together?
Herb only had to listen to the reports from Willie on his walkie-talkie to know that order was starting to break down. People were trying to force doors or escape through the area that was under construction and it was only going to get uglier. His migraine-plauged mind swam with visions of assaults and lawsuits. Merry fucking Christmas indeed.
Turning from the doors, he found himself surrounded by a swarm of anxious faces. The crowd had grown since he had first braved its depths.
"I think I am going to be ill."
Herb put a hand to the back of his head; he'd lost that part of his skull twenty years ago and it had been replaced with solid American steel. There had always been migraines but what he felt now reduced those reduced those earlier headaches to pale shadows.
And as for the voices? He wasn't the sort of man to hear voices.
"Damn that's hardcore."
It felt as though there was something growing inside his skull, getting ready to hatch. He wanted to find the voices and force them to be silent, but how could he? His knees felt rubbery, ready to give way, but he had an audience before him. They were all looking to him as a source of comfort and authority; Herb's sense of duty and pride kept him on his feet.
"All right folks." He raised his hands, "It looks like we're all gonna be stuck here for a while. So you may as well just grab a seat and relax while I call the authorities."
Immediately He was pelted with questions and demands. For some a call to the authorities wasn't going to be enough they wanted out now.
"We are doing everything we can." He kept his voice loud but reasonable, "But circumstances are beyond our control."
"Doomed."
Pain washed over him, robbing him of his senses and sweeping all of his thoughts away. He didn't even know He had fallen until He hit the floor with a bone-jarring impact.
"Shit, if we play our cards right we'll be legends."
70
A grimace of concentration and delight played across Charnel Bloom's worn features as he blew air into the bone flute and let his fingers dance over the holes in movements of mathematic precision. Anything that wasn't nailed down zoomed after Scorby. Like so many before him his adversary had underestimated the power and wisdom of Anzon, and now he was going to pay for that mistake.
It amused Charnel Bloom to watch his opponent scurry this way and that, the White monkey's snapping at his heels, their fur stained pink with blood.. The tune rasping from the bone flute rose an octave and the entire electronics section - VCRs, STEREOS, TELEVISIONS, COMPUTERS AND MORE the sign boasted - went up in a shower of sparks and white smoke. The blast engulfed the lone salesman left in the department and knocked Scorby off his feet. Flinching at the noise, Charnel Bloom watched his opponent fly several yards through the air, hit the ground with a very feminine squeal, slide across the polished floor and collide with a trio of mannequins. There was a moment marked only by the droning MUZAK version of 'Jingle Bells' and the screeching of the bewildered spectators.
Smugly, Charnel Bloom strode through the debris, taking no small thrill in the sight of his challenger bloodied and battered, struggling to pull himself to his feet as the White monkeys moved in, slavering soundlessly. Charnel Bloom hoped that the Bloodless Whisperer was watching, he hoped that devotion was being proven.
69
Nicole was looking for a security guard or a store manager, just someone that could get her the Hell out of here, when she heard voices raised in alarm. Not wanting to gape she stood just outside the entrance of SEARS and peered inside. A portly man in a good suit was lying face down on the floor; a crowd of gawkers and would-be rescuers had gathered around him. The sight brought unpleasant memories flooding back.
It had been cold that December, bitterly cold. She remembered holding Mark's body and shouting for help on a deserted road. Blood had soaked through his clothes, and it felt so warm against her skin. Somehow, he was still clinging to life and he was moving his lips trying to speak; not a day went by that Nicole didn't wonder what he was trying so desperately to tell her in those final moments. What had those final words been?
She didn't believe in an afterlife, so she had to content herself with never knowing. It was scant comfort when December rolled around and there was snow on the ground and wreaths on every door.
She would have killed herself by now, if not for her fear of the yawning emptiness that had consumed Mark so completely.
Crashes and cries roused her from her thoughts. Nicole turned in time to see the muffled explosion, and a man tumbling around the corner. Curiosity getting the better of her fears, she drew closer.
68
Willie carried his boss into the security office. It was hard to believe that this pasty, twitching figure in his arms now was the same man he'd seen wrestle many a shoplifter to the ground, the same man that had beaten him at arm wrestling for the last two years.
Skirting around the desk, Willie set Herb down in his chair and stepped cautiously back. When he was sure that he wasn't going to fall out of the chair he ran over to the filling cabinet.
"Uhm, excuse me?"
Willie looked up from flinging files this way and that. There was a prisoner handcuffed to the radiator, some shoplifter forgotten in all the confusion. Willie cursed his ineptitude, how could he not have noticed another person in the room? He'd never make it in the police academy at this rate.
Or Starfleet for that mater.
"Sir?"
"What?" Willie turned his attention back to the files. It was in here somewhere, he'd seen the stupid thing enough times. White box. Red Cross. How could he not find it now when he needed it?
"What's happening out there?"
"Nothing sir, just a few jammed doors that's all." With a grunt of frustration he slammed the top drawer closed and moved on to the second. His thoughts were a jumble, it was all happening too fast.
Herb groaned and slumped in his seat, rambling to himself. What if he's dying? Oh God what if? Willie thought as he tore through the contents of the second drawer, manila folders flying everywhere.
"If I might -"
"Be quiet!" Willie hissed at the prisoner.
The dark eyed man sighed with exasperation, "The first aid kit is in the upper right hand drawer of Mr. Cordel's desk."
"What?"
"The first aid kit." The prisoner said, "You'll find it in the upper right hand drawer, the same drawer he keeps his box of raisins in.
Shock rooted Willie to the spot, "How- how did you know what I was looking for?"
"I know a great deal about what's going on here, and I know for a fact that no first aid kit in the world is going to help your boss."
"It is a stroke isn't it?" Leaning against the file cabinet, Willie shook his head, "Just like my Mom."
"No." The prisoner straightened up as best he could, he was sweaty and there was dark purple bruise on one side of his cheek. "It's nothing so mundane as a stroke. You know about Herb's war wound I take it?"
"Yeah."
The prisoner looked him square, almost begging to be believed, "Well that steel plate in his skull has just started receiving... transmissions."
Now this was too much. Willie dismissed the ridiculousness with a wave of his arm. Here he was in a critical situation and this idiot was trying to waste his time "Are you crazy?"
"I know what's happening here, and I know what's going to happen here if we don't act quickly." He rattled the handcuffs for emphasis.
"How do you know anything?" Willie spat, "You're just some fuckin' shoplifter of something!"
"If I'm just a shoplifter then how do I know your name is William Thomas Tatallia? How do I know you just bought a brand new Monte Carlo? How do I know that your favorite show in the world is Star Trek? How do I know that you have a crush on the girl that makes sandwiches in the deli on afternoons?"
They stared at each other in a silence marked only by Herb's pained breathing. There was a sickening feeling in the pit of Willie's stomach, a feeling that was one half fear, one half excitement.
"How do you know all this?"
"You told it to me, every word."
"That's impossible, I've never seen you before."
"You told me in another time, another place."
"Oh my god. You're …you’re from the future! "
"It’s… not quite like that…"
"Then what is it like? Who are you?"
"These days I’m known as Benjamin Zachary."
67
In the jumbled confusion that had become his thoughts, Scorby could only notice that he had lost his spectacles; they were lying a few feet off to his right, a mangled scrap of glass and metal. Kicking free of the pile of broken mannequins, he shambled to his feet.
The white monkeys were closing in, scampering over the wreckage; their teeth grinding with excitement, their fur stained pink with blood. Scorby's only hope was in the crowd of sheep slowly being drawn his way by the commotion. He exclaimed an invocation, his voice deep and clear.
A small mob lurched after the White monkeys. Panicked the beasts attacked as one tearing into the blank eyed shoppers. Scrabbling pink fingers blinded one man and left another bleeding in a heap. A woman in a festive novelty hat grabbed two of the White monkeys and smashed their skulls together over and over again. Smiling with satisfaction, Scorby called to one of the stragglers in the mob, a dark haired, almost pretty girl in a long red coat.
Turning stiffly, Nicole Miller walked to Scorby's side. With a snarl he threw his arm around her shoulder and allowed himself to be half-carried to the escalator.
66
A few swift kicks from Mary-Jean was all it took to bring down a sizable section the plaster partition wall that dominated the rear third of the shopping center. Over six months ago the pinheads that owned the shopping center had decided to expand their little empire. With little ceremony or warning they booted a few of the inconveniently located stores out on their ears and started construction. About three weeks into the project a court order had stopped all work. A group of environmentalists with nothing better to do had noticed that the hunk of land the mall occupied was the home of a one of a kind species of butterfly and they had managed to convince a judge that this was somehow important. All the mall's owners could do was erect a temporary wall and put the work on hiatus. The summer had been a never-ending parade of lawyers, TV reporters and protesting hippies.
Months later the court battle still raged on, and had just made the leap from the state to the federal level. Mary-Jean had heard the whole mess was costing them a fortune, which she thought was pretty goddamn funny. After all, these were the same dirtbags that had refused her a ten-cent raise because of 'excessive absenteeism'.
Shoving her way through the ragged hole she'd made, Mary-Jean fumbled through the darkness. She hadn't thought of bringing a flashlight but she sure as Hell wasn't going to head back for one now. Waiting for her eyes to adjust, she began to pick out the sound of plastic undulating in the wind and the gentle creaking of the exposed metal superstructure.
This was her way out, there were no doors here - there were barely any walls, just rusty scaffolding with thick sheets of plastic thrown over them to keep out the elements. Of course it just figured that senile, war-wounded, brain-damaged Herb Cordel and his simp sidekick wouldn't have the brains to think of something like this. Hands positioned in front of her she turned to the right.
Ten steps later, she crashed into something metallic and fell to the sawdust-coated floor; Mary-Jean's curses were swallowed by the empty gloom. After a few moments of clutching her wounded shin, she got back on her feet and started moving again, more cautiously this time.
Red light bled through the opaque veils of plastic. Was it the police already? Mary-Jean grabbed one of the plastic sheets and tore it down with a single tug.
What she found behind it sent her calling for back-up.
65
"Wait a moment... I have a notion. You pay homage to this so called Monkey Emperor-"
"Monkey King, how is it that I know more about this than you? I’m third generation white trash- you’re Chinese."
"I am a Mystagogue"
"Yeah but you’re a Chinese Mystagogue"
"Can the Monkey King grant us succor? Can his power keep these white monkey’s at bay?"
"No he can’t. The white monkeys only look like monkeys. They’re really Anzon’s favorite worshippers. Sick huh?"
"We are most assuredly doomed."
"Uh-oh."
"Whatever disaster has befallen us now?"
"One of the 'pawns' made it back here."
"Oh. I see. What should we do about him?"
"Uh, Wu-Han, that’s a chick."
"Have you taken leave of your senses?"
"No, but I know a chick when I see one."
"That is most definitely not a member of the weaker sex."
"Well this is a problem, we have a witness now."
"We have nothing, we have less than nothing."
"Look I’m taking no chances here. The only version of events the Preceptors are going to hear is our version."
"I will have no part of this. It’s base murder!"
"Fine. I’ll take care of it, but you owe me."
"I owe you nothing!"
64
The painful voices receded to ghostly, half-heard whispers. There was something cold and clammy trickling down the back of his neck. Herb sat up and touched the spot, expecting his hand to come away bloody, but instead it came back white.
"It's mayonnaise." Willie explained as he got up from one of the folding chairs.
"Mayonnaise?" Herb touched the back of his head and felt something cold and crinkly. For a moment he had convinced himself that the events of the last few hours had been nothing more than a nightmare suffered while napping at his desk. He scanned the office, his eyes shifting from Willie’s concerned face to the empty handcuff dangling from the radiator, "Where’s the prisoner?"
"I can explain."
"You better." He reached to tear it away.
Willie bounded from his seat, "Wait!"
"What?"
"You wanna keep that tinfoil right where it is."
"Tinfoil?" Herb goggled, "Are you planning to have my head for lunch tomorrow? What is going on here?"
Willie stood but didn't make eye contact as he explained, "After you passed out I brought you here. I thought you were dying or worse. Zachary-"
"Who?"
"You know," he jerked a thumb at the radiator, "the prisoner. He told me his name, well his code name actually."
"Benjamin Zachary? The pervert?"
"In his line of work he probably needs to stay anonymous. You know, so as not to change history."
"I’m afraid to ask but what are you talking about?"
"He’s come from the future to save the world."
Leaping to his feet, Herb charged for Willie. The lunch-wrapping skullcap would have ended up on the floor if not for the rubber bands and scotch tape holding it in place. "Jesus Christ! You let that nutcase talk you into letting him go? What’s the matter with you? It’s not as if we don’t have enough crap to deal with tonight!"
"Look I don’t understand myself but he knew what he was talking about, he knew that the tinfoil would dilute the reception."
"Reception?"
"I didn’t believe him at first but he told me that I’d get all the proof I’d need if I touched the back of your skull."
"What?"
"I know how crazy it sounds but when I did it I got an electrical shock. I’m not kidding! My teeth are still aching from it."
Herb was speechless, this was getting more surreal by the minute.
"Zachary said that your steel plate was picking up... communications but if I grounded you with the tinfoil from my lunch, you’d be okay."
"And you believed him?"
"How could I not?" Willie’s voice cracked with frustration, "He knows what’s happening out there. He knows everything about us, he knew my middle name, he knew about your war wound. He knew what was in my lunch! You’ve gotta believe me on this."
"The only thing I believe Willie is that you’ve got too much of that Star Track on your brain!"
"But- "
"If this Zachary character is here to save the world then where did he go when you released him?"
"I don’t know- he’s said he’d be back."
"Yeah, so did Jesus. What happened here is that this weirdo is the one responsible for all that’s going on and you let him go." Herb grabbed hold of the tinfoil skullcap and yanked it off, "He fed you a line of bullshit and you- "
The voices thundered back into his mind, drowning out his thoughts and driving him to his knees. It was as though a pair of giants were bickering directly overhead. He never heard his walkie-talkie sputtering to life and Mary-Jean’s panicked voice, "Please! There’s something wrong. There’s something wrong with the sky!"
63
"There's something wrong, there's something wrong with the sky-" the words dwindled on Mary-Jean's lips as figure stepped out of the darkness. Her mind faltered between the urge to flee and the urge to attack - but in the end it didn't matter. The last thing Mary-Jean knew was searing pain and an all-devouring light.
Her walkie-talkie clattered to the floor, a voice calling out to her through it, "Mary-Jean? Mary-Jean this is Willie, do you copy? What's the matter? Mary-Jean
62
News of the deaths and injuries in Sears had spread throughout the mall's captive population, with each retelling the details had become a little more brutal, a shade more grotesque. It had left patrons and employees alike feeling skittish and it had made shoplifting all the easier for Benjamin Zachary. He wasn't sure but he could have sworn that one of the clerks at the drugstore had seen him pocket the two pairs of earplugs but said nothing. She was probably afraid that he was one of the authors of this unfolding tragedy and in a way she was right.
Making his way along the first floor Benjamin detoured around the people camped out on the floors and benches. Back in his office Herb was breaking out his revolvers, and giving Willie a crash course in how not to shoot his own foot off. Benjamin made a mental note to head back later and retrieve the Splinter. He probably could have liberated the sliver of scarlet crystal earlier, but he didn't want to become too dependent on it because, like all tools, it could be lost. Besides the damn thing worried him, it worried him a lot. Did he really control the Splinter or did it control him?
Benjamin glanced back towards the mall offices and frowned. He should have warned Willie about what was coming, regardless of the repercussions. The problem was that what he was doing here was less like strategy and more like setting up a row of dominoes. Even the slightest change in events at this point could send the future spiraling out in unforeseen directions.
His pace slowed as he passed before a leather goods store. The clerks on duty had vacated their posts and a mercenary few had begun helping themselves to the inventory. There was a black jacket in the window, the kind that were all the rage now thanks to the Fonz and Happy Days. He'd never owned a leather jacket in his life but he remembered this one intimately. Moving like a sleepwalker he stepped into the abandoned store and ran his hands reverently over the shiny dark material. Memories came flooding back to him, memories that hadn't happened yet, memories of events that might never happen if he failed here.
"Lorelei." He pressed his face against the tanned hide, "I'm going to get it right this time. I'm going to make it right this time."
61
If there was one thing Scorby had learned from his mother it was the inherent wisdom of the tactical retreat. Not that his mother had ever retreated from anything, but the many beatings he received by her or her servant's hands had taught him that there was no dishonor in finding a place to lie low and tend your wounds, or better yet have your wounds tended to. The spirit of this lesson of had compelled him to visit the mall early in the day. His reconnaissance mission had borne fruit when he discovered a small series of hallways and rooms near the back of the SEARS housewares department. These were offices used by the management for interviews, meetings, and presentations. They were perfect.
Lying on his stomach atop the long, rectangular table that occupied the center of the room, he cursed the dark-haired, plain-looking sheep as she plucked chips of metal and plastic from his flesh. Once removed she would let them drop to the floor. Scorby prayed that each muffled clink he heard would be the last but it seemed the unsteady, relentless fingers would always find another- be it on his leg, or ass or shoulder. At first he kept but he quickly lost count.
Finally the prodding and pulling stopped. Gingerly, he rolled over to find the sheep staring dumbly at him; her fingernails were caked with blood. "How about bandaging my wounds shit-for-brains?"
Instead of getting to work she just stared at him. There was confusion in her eyes. The invocation must have suppressed so much of her mind that she was incapable of independent thought. It almost made Scorby laugh, after all this time he still didn't know his own strength. "Look Shit-For-Brains, it's easy. Take the coffeepot. Dump out the coffee. Then take the coffeepot to the bathroom and fill it with warm water. That's warm water, not hot. While you're there, get as many paper towels as you can. Then come back here and clean me up."
Watching her go Scorby cursed the sheep, all of them.
60
"Guns?" Willie voice quivered at the word, "You have guns?"
"Yes." Shifting aside the bric-a-brac they had taken from 'Benjamin Zachary' Herb pulled the strongbox from his desk. The tinfoil skullcap was back in place and re-anchored with fresh rubber bands and tape
"They let you keep guns here?"
He pulled out his keychain and unlocked the box, "They don't know."
"You could get fired." Willie leaned over them, and caught a faint whiff of the masculine scent of gun oil.
"Fired?" he shook his head grimly, "Fired is the least of my worries right now."
"When we go to rescue Mary-Jean," he reached for one of the weapons, "do I get a gun?"
Herb slapped his hand away, "Mary-Jean is dead."
"How- "
"Your friend Zachary was right, I can hear them talking."
"Them?"
"The people that trapped us here. They killed Mary-Jean like she was some kind of an insect. If we don't stop them they'll kill us all."
"But why?"
"All I'm sure of is that they don't care how many innocent people die."
Willie opened and closed his mouth several times before he actually spoke, "What are they? Aliens?"
"I don't know."
"So how do we stop them?"
"I know where they are," Herb said gravely, he lifted one of the revolvers and stared down the sights, "and I'm going to pay them a little visit."
"A visit? No way are you-" Someone entered the security office. Willie turned, it was probably another irate shopper coming to bitch or beg. There had been several of these visitors already, about half of them had been turned away by the look in Herb's eyes but a few had needed to be helped to the door. "I'm sorry," Willie said, he didn't have the time to waste placating people now, his supervisor was about to set off on an adventure without him, and adventures were hard to come by in this town, "but this is an employees only sector. Believe me, we're doing the best we can to get the situation under control."
"I'm sure you are." Charnel Bloom's voice was a weak rasp. He caught the door being closed in his face.
Shocked by the newcomer's strength, Willie let the man pass before